Spread Your Wings: Men in Blue, Book 4 (31 page)

“Oh, nothing. Just keep wondering about the Rudolph Small case.” His partner never stopped being a cop. Even when it wasn’t their jurisdiction. “You figure Bertrand’s behind it?”

“From the first second Small went missing, that was my guess.” Matt scratched his chest. He enjoyed brainstorming with his partner as they had so many times before. “Must have done a good job of it, though, if they haven’t brought him in for questioning yet, never mind arrested the sleaze ball.”

“It’s the perfect set-up, really.” Clint kept his voice low to avoid waking Jambi. “Off the competition, then use his untimely death to rally the guy’s supporters and drag them over to your camp. If he can frame someone, even better. He’ll be a hero and Rudolph a martyr.”

“It’s a bitch when we have to play by the rules to prove what our instincts are screaming.” Matt rolled toward his mates. “But that’s the difference between us and them, isn’t it? We believe in obeying the law.”

“It’s not justice when a killer walks free.” A sigh came from the other man. “But yeah, you’re right. They’ll catch him eventually. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s just a matter of time before evidence turns up. They’re digging, you know they are.” Matt had faith in the system. It might not be perfect, but it worked the majority of the time.

“I hope the Feds catch a break soon.” Clint went silent and his eyes drifted closed. He might have fallen back to sleep if Matt hadn’t roused him again.

“It might be because we’re all wrapped up like a ball of worms, but… Does Jambi feel hot to you, Clint?” Matt worried his lip between his front teeth, pressing the back of his hand to their girl’s forehead.

That was when he noticed the sweat dampening her hair.

And still she didn’t wake up.

“Oh, damn.” Clint tested her pretty porcelain skin too. “Yeah. She’s definitely got a fever. Let me radio over to Shari and see where she keeps the first aid kit. We’re going to need some aspirin.”

“It might be more than that.” Matt paused Clint with a light touch on his arm. That dragon tattoo reared its head as if daring them to be brave enough to act like the lovers they were instead of the friends they’d been. But what if Clint felt differently today than he had in the heat of the moment yesterday? “She needs antibiotics. The ones she left behind at the hotel.”

“Okay, I’ll check with Shari. I’ll bet they have a stash here somewhere. If we have to, we’ll call one of the guys to get us supplies.” Clint smiled a little shyly at Matt. It might have been weird if it didn’t seem so damn natural. After all, they’d spent most of the past twelve years side-by-side.

Now they were a little closer, that was all.

“Okay, let me take a quick shower and touch base with the guys. If she’s not up by then, we’ll leave her a note before we go exploring.” Matt couldn’t help himself. He brushed her cheek with his thumb before climbing from bed. “Wouldn’t want her to wake up alone and scared, thinking we ditched her or some shit.”

“You know I don’t plan to leave her. Ever. Right?” His partner grew very still, something that rarely happened. “I’m hoping what we’re building between us is something I can count on for the rest of my life. Something like the friendship I thought you and I had.”

“Why do you say it like that?” Wary, Matt watched as Clint curled protectively around their woman.

“Because lately I’ve felt like it was possible we’d break. Drift apart. Or worse, actively hate each other.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t ever want to go through that again. Not with you and definitely not with her. I’m a forever kind of man.”

“So am I.” Matt trusted that his promise meant something to his partner. The guy should know him well enough by now to keep from doubting his word. “Call Mason.”

“I’ve got us covered.” Some of Clint’s usual personality returned. “Go clean up. You reek of sex like a hooker after a shift. Good job, big guy.”

Matt flipped him the bird as he spun on his heel. His friend might not have been able to see his equally enormous smile or the hard-on that was difficult to blame on morning wood due to its delayed onset, but he could probably tell Matt’s shoulders shook with laughter as he considered the promise of a new day. A new era.

When they’d swapped places, Clint taking advantage of the generous hot water heater, Matt had prepared Jambrea some breakfast—fresh fruit from the basket Shari had supplied along with a bowl of cereal. He laid the dishes on a tray he’d found in the kitchen and added a note, which he folded into a tent and placed beside the nourishment.

Shari tells us there’s a storeroom in the boathouse. We’re going to check it out. Need to round up some antibiotics. Take these aspirin and eat your breakfast. We’ll be back before you know it.

Love you,

Matt

“Nice job.” Clint nodded toward the tray as he whipped the towel from his hips and pulled his clothes on. Good thing the cabin had a washer and dryer running on the same generator as the rest of the house’s conveniences. This place kind of rocked.

Maybe someday they’d have a home half as sweet.

The three of them.

Matt looked over in time to see Clint scrawling his name next to Matt’s, unwilling to be left out. He didn’t blame his partner.

“You finally set?” He decided to rib the other guy. “You take longer to get ready in the morning than a woman, I swear.”

“Hey, it takes a lot to look this good.” Clint tested out the spikes of his hair and the stubble left behind after his calculated almost-shave.

Together, they took one last look at Jambrea, who still slept peacefully, before heading outside then down the porch stairs. Without speaking, they broke into a trot.

Matt and Clint jogged, side by side, around the edge of the still, dark lake to the boathouse. This was familiar territory. They went for runs almost every morning they weren’t on duty and even usually hit the gym together. On autopilot, Matt enjoyed the serenity around him and the company of his best friend.

He wished they could go for a few laps of the lake, through the woods and some of the other beautiful land surrounding them. Unfortunately, they made quick work of the distance between the buildings. With one last look over his shoulder, Matt said, “Maybe later we can see what kind of fish we can find in there. Add something to the dinner table.”

“Sounds good. Only thing missing would be a case of beer and some of that processed cheese product stuff we used to pick up at the country store that sold bait.” Clint laughed at their poor nutritional habits. On guy weekends, anything that could go in their stomachs did.

He couldn’t wait for life to settle into a blend of the familiar old routines they loved and this new, uncultivated sharing that made everything a little more vibrant. The combination would be even more delicious than junk food.

Matt unlatched the door to the boathouse, sliding a weathered plank through the old-fashioned iron fixtures holding it, one square bracket bolted to each of the barn doors. Reaching in, Clint pulled one of the huge sliders to the side, admitting them deeper into John’s realm.

He flipped the light switch near the entry, pleased to see rows of shop lights instead of dingy yellow bulbs dangling from exposed wires, like he’d first imagined.

“I guess this is where he made all that furniture. And practiced carving things, like that box he made Jambi. Probably had a lot of time to do that when he was out in the ass end of the world.” Clint only sounded mildly jealous. Good for him. The thought of that dude giving their wild thing something so sentimental and precious had Matt in knots, because he wasn’t sure that he could ever live up to those standards.

“Hey. Quit it with that death stare, would you?” Matt didn’t sound super pleased either, though. The keen observation skills of the Men in Blue were pretty legendary. A requirement for their job. “He saved her life. If it wasn’t for him, we’d never have met Jambi.”

“It doesn’t bother you to think of him stopping over for a one night fuck-a-thon then ditching her?” Clint’s bugged eyes made it clear what he thought of that, even if his raspy question hadn’t.

“Better than entangling her in his mess. And I’m sure as shit not going to complain about her being available now.” He shrugged. “Things do happen for a reason sometimes.”

“I’m going to be her reason.” Clint nodded as he began to poke around. “
We
are.”

“Yup.” Content to work in silence, they methodically searched every inch of the shop including the cabinets and the mounds under every tarp. That was the only reason they noticed the difference in the floorboards beneath one of the freestanding tools, right where Shari had indicated the trapdoor to the cellar could be found.

“Got it.” Matt rolled the heavy band saw a few feet to the left.

Clint opened the hatch and held it while Matt squeezed himself onto the ladder inside. Fortunately, the light had come on automatically when they lifted the trapdoor. This was no spider-webbed, dank hole. No, a smooth painted cement floor and walls reflected bright lights onto shelves of organized supplies.

It took less than two minutes to locate the antibiotics in the section containing medical essentials. Matt pocketed a bottle, thanking John again for his foresight.

As they turned to leave, Clint put his hand on Matt’s arm. “Wait.”

If his partner’s urging hadn’t done the trick, the electric current that shocked him at the guy’s touch would have. He willed his boner not to make an awkward appearance right then.

Before Clint could notice his state, he scrambled up the ladder. He stopped when his knees were about floor level. He looked around a bit, then ducked into the cellar. Measuring the space with his fingers—held a bit apart—and one eye squeezed shut like he’d gotten something in it, he popped up again like a prairie dog on crack.

Finally satisfied, he descended.

“What was all that about?” Matt chuckled.

“The cellar walls line up with the beams supporting the center of the workshop and the outside walls. Except for that back part right there.” He pointed. “I think the room is a little short on that side, smaller than it should be.”

“Are you kidding me?” Matt stared at Clint. “How the hell did you catch that?”

“I don’t know, something just felt funny.” He pointed at the ceiling. “Why put a drop ceiling down here, unless to cover up that the joists aren’t the right spacing somewhere.”

“So we’re going to move all this shit?” A wave toward John’s inventory had him groaning at the thought.

“Have a better idea?” Clint asked.

“Nope.” Rolling up his sleeves, he took boxes off the racks and stacked them neatly in the opposite corner. Fortunately, they’d only shuffled about a third of the heavy sacks of rice and canned goods before they found what they were looking for.

A door.

It sat in the wall behind the shelving, the seams nearly invisible.

“I’ve got this.” Matt hauled one set of shelves into the center of the room, his muscles straining. It felt good to put his body to work. Useful for the moment, he cleared enough room for them to slither through the open-backed metal racks and open the white door to John’s inner sanctum.

“Holy shit,” Clint whispered. There was only one thing inside the three foot deep by twenty foot wide, false-fronted room.

A safe.

Adrenaline poured through them. Clint turned to Matt and slapped him on the back, except this time it was more of a hug. A manly embrace, but still. Definitely a hug. And Matt reciprocated.

This could keep Jambi out of harm's way and let them return to their friends. Their new-and-improved lives. He did a fist pump, then growled, “Hell yes!”

“Go ahead.” Clint motioned toward it. “Do the honors. Use the combination from the medal box.”

Matt stepped forward, spinning the dial first to the left, then to the right, then to the left once again. His fingers curled one by one around the lever to the door. He pulled.

Nothing.

“It was 4-14-50, right?” he asked Clint to confirm what he already knew.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” Matt tried once more. Still nothing. “You want to give it a go?”

“Shit, no. I watched. You did it right.” Clint never fell into thinking he was a moron just because he was the size of an elephant. Sometimes brawn and brains did go together, although most people assumed they didn’t.

“Damn it.” Matt smacked his palm on the cinderblock wall, kind of okay with the sting that reverberated up his forearm.

“Maybe we should try it backwards.” Clint stepped up to the plate and spun out a few different variations on that theme.

“It’s no use.” Frustrated, Matt thought he did a decent job of hiding his annoyance. Clint put his hand on Matt’s shoulder, though. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go before Jambi gets worried. We can call JRad and see if he has any ideas.”

“What if we try every combination?” Matt didn’t mind putting in the time or hard work to figure this out if it was the key to moving on with their promising future.

“With ninety-nine options and three slots, although who knows if it’s more than three digits in the combination, there’s…” Clint did some mental math. “Probably close to a million possibilities. We’ll rot away before we hit on it.”